


See the Fire in Your Eyes

by AdaraHawthorn



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Injury Recovery, Protective Arthur Morgan, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:20:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25955869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdaraHawthorn/pseuds/AdaraHawthorn
Summary: By 1899, the age of Outlaws and Gunslinger was at an endAmerica was becoming a land of laws...Even the West had mostly been tamedA few gangs still roamed, but they were being hunted down and destroyedThis is the story of how one woman changed the fates of those left
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Reader, Van der Linde Gang/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	1. Colter: Outlaws from the West

Chapter 1: Colter, Outlaws from the West

Darkness stalked the group of wagons like a predator, a wolf with a pack of sharp, relentless cold and blistering wind howling through the pines and cliffs. Grunts and whinnies of draft horses echoed in the winds, lantern light highlighting the struggle of ploughing through ever-growing layers of snow and ice, the figures aboard the wagons subject to the abuse of such harsh weather. Silhouettes coated in fresh snow shiver in their spots as their harsh breathing leaves clouds of vapour, as they loon onwards to the trail leading farther to the dark, the cold. 

Atop one of the wagon beds being pulled by two struggling Belgian Draft horses, veiled by a canvas fluttering violently in the storms wind, is a woman moving frantically around the floor of the wagon bed, darting back to the limp figure atop a bed roll. Slow, cold breaths catch in the throat of the wounded male as blood dries around the edges of his lips where they meet frosty icicles caught in his facial hair.  
“What do I tell Dutch, Miss (y/l/n)?” the red-headed reverend asks to the side of the woman, currently crouching at the end of the wagon bed to hop out into the snow, clutching his gloved hands around his torso seeking warmth. 

The woman stills at his voice, the first she’s heard for hours since they started the unforgiving journey north. As she kneels on the floor, as if waking up from a deep slumber, she notices the dried blood coating her bare hands, the numerous amounts of ground flora covering the males bleeding chest below her doing nothing to stop the continuous flow of scarlet, the two figures in the wagon shivering as Abigail tucked her son into her bust as he softly cried in exhaustion and fear. Abigail stares back at the restless woman in pity, a firm line forming her lips as she grabs the other woman’s blood soaked hand in comfort. 

(Y/N) sighs dejectedly, closes her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose with her now free hand since she stopped grinding leaves in a tiny ceramic mortar. After a moment her eyes open slightly with a fresh film of tears threatening to fall and blurring her vision, turning to the side she silently collects her bandages.

“He’ll be gone soon, He can't feel the pain but he needs a place to rest while he... “

The reverend nodded silently before hopping out the wagon and trenching through the knee-high snow towards the wagon leading the group. 

“Is Uncle Davey going to be alright, Auntie (Y/N)?” 

The small, choked up voice of young Jack Marston piped up from the covers of blankets and his mother’s skirts, chestnut eyes and a red nose poke out, looking to the older woman for an answer. 

(Y/N) forced a small smile on her face despite her despair, quickly tucking a sheepskin blanket to Davey’s side before slowly crawling towards the two passengers. 

“Jackie, Uncle Davey has been very, very brave and fought very hard, but he won’t be with us for much longer. Uncle Davey’s dying, Button.”

“Is he going to heaven like Auntie Jenny?”

It was at this innocent question that the tear (Y/N) fought to trap in her eyelid finally spilled onto her right cheek, a wet trail climbing over the rosy skin. The reminder of her failures as the gangs best healer, her mind travels to the image of the poor girls body dumped on the trail a few hours ago, no time to bury her as the Pinkertons preyed like vultures. Where red bled into white beneath her as she quickly became blanketed by harsh snow. By now, buried in it, with no proper burial, no gravestone, no goodbye, just a bed of decaying leaves close to a large pine tree.

“Yeah, like Aunt Jenny, they’ll meet each other again and play dominoes all day.”

Swanson appear suddenly, jumping back into the wagon and breathing into his gloved fingers before turning to the women. “Mr. Morgan found a place to rest, Dutch says we'll make camp there for a few days to ride the storm out.”

Both women nod silently at the new information, (Y/N) quickly wiping away the tear on her face and now sitting with her back against the sideboard of the wagon and Abigail squeezing her hand firmly. 

“You did everything you could, Rabbit”

(Y/N) doesn’t, can’t, look at Abigail as she nods exhausted and rests her head against the sideboard staring up to the canvas of the wagon, the howling of the wind and grunts of horses lulling her to a state of melancholy.

Silently, she searches the pockets of her heavy cobalt blue Bison duster coat and fishes out her journal and crooked pencil, writing almost mechanically.

'Harsh winds patrol this mountain  
Red bleeds into white  
Frail crystals swept by ravaging wind...'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a little prologue bit to start the story, I'll change from 1st person and 3rd person in different chapters and maybe use different characters.
> 
> In this story, the character is in her late 20s and has extensive knowledge in botany and wildlife, because of this her place in the gang is pretty much the doctor along with a bit of hunting. 
> 
> Also, the readers journal is gonna be a recurring for for the end of each chapter, much like Arthur with his journal but rather than his drawings and writings, I took inspo from ghost of tsushima and thought that really figurative poems would be lovely :) 
> 
> Lemme know what you think so far or gimme some ideas on the story, as I have an idea to go with but am open to suggestions :)  
> Thanks for reading


	2. Colter: Outlaws from the West: part 2

“Bring him in here!” 

Hosea’s voice echoes across the blaring wind, lantern light revealing the older figure holding the door open whilst huddling figures filter into the tired building. The smell of rotting wood and damp hit the group as soon as they stepped into their new shelter, yet they came in quickly to escape the much worse chill outside. (Y/N) lingered around the back of the group as they entered, the body of Davey, now unresponsive to the voices and hustle emanating from the small room, was placed delicately on top of one of the last standing surfaces. Abigail steps towards Davey as Bill grumbles and leaves quickly, placing her ear slowly to Davey’s face. (Y/N) watched in defeat, she knew Davey was dead before the group even arrived to the run down town of Colter, not having the heart or courage to declare it. 

“Miss Gaskill... Get that fire lit quick. Miss Jones, bring in whatever blankets we have. Mr. Pearson, see what we’ve got in terms of food.” Grimshaw’s voice echoed orders, though the overall atmosphere of exhaustion had even seeped into even to strong-willed woman. 

Whilst she stared, a thickly gloved hand, so large yet so gentle, landed upon her shoulder waking her from the trance. Looking towards the owner of the appendage, (Y/N)’s (E/C) eyes made contact with the azure blues of Arthur Morgan. The snow still sticking to the short strands of blonde peaking out from his beaten hat as he looked to the woman with an unreadable expression, though the sentiment was clear. 

The relationship that these two beings held was so beautifully complicated. The pair have danced around each other for years, both showing signs of want for a relationship, but also fear of one. Unspoken traumas barricaded the hearts of the couple, yet in the 6 years (Y/N) has been a member of their ragtag family, their care for each other grew. They both knew that at this moment, (Y/N) didn’t want pity, empty words or reassurance. And so they continued to look into each others eyes as the group bustled quietly around them, (Y/N)’s bare hand, still slightly tinged with red and dried blood hiding in her cuticles, slowly rose to the large hand on her shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze and a gentle sigh. 

“We can talk later, if you’d like, Miss (L/N)? “ he gently called out to her, wary of others prying. She nodded minutely, releasing her hold on his large hand, allowing him to be shepherded by Hosea towards the gangs leader currently rubbing his hands together for warmth and observing the group. 

“Davey’s dead.”

_____________________________________

“Miss (L/N)!”

(Y/N) snapped out of the hypnotic state she had fell into whilst breaking down firewood with her hunting knife, what once was a thick branch of a pine tree was now staring at her from the table in the form of small 3 inch dwindling of shaved wood. She turned to the older woman who was standing close to her right side, confirming her suspicion that she had been calling out to her for some time. 

“Sorry, yes, Miss Grimshaw?”

“Sit down for a while, girl, before you started chopping the wagons to wood chips” 

“But Miss Gr-“

“No but’s, girl! Go lay down.”

The women continued to stare in silence, Grimshaw fiery gaze daring her to challenge her authority again whilst (Y/N)’s begged her to reconsider, to allow her to continue working so that her own mind didn’t capture her completely. 

“At least let me tend to the horses? They haven’t been brushed, fed or watered properly for days.”

“Neither have you but... fine, hurry it up, girl. We don’t know what kind of shape the boys will come back in so keep sharp.”

A small smile reached the corners of (Y/N)’s lips at the older woman’s comment, her own method of showing care for her family fully compatible with her mood at that moment. Nodding, she layered her grey scarf around her head once more and placed her knitted gloves on her hands, before opening the whittled down door immediately greeted with freezing wind and snow. 

Trudging towards the stable where whinnies could be faintly heard over the breeze, opening the barn door she was greeted by the many horses of the camp who all eagerly started to turn towards her. The actions of these creatures brought a damper to her mood once more, as she is reminded not only of the human loss the gang have faced but also the loss of their beloved partners in crime. Arthur’s own Missouri Fox Trotter, Boadicea, was amongst the fallen, as well as(Y/N)’s beloved black snowflake appaloosa, Apollo. He was a gift from Hosea Mathew’s -even if he was stolen from a mouthy rancher- when she first joined the Van der Linde gang, 6 long years with that horse brought a tight friendship between woman and horse she now misses terribly. 

Silently walking towards Brown Jack, she took out a handful of parasol mushroom from a pouch in her bandolier and one of the horse brush’s atop a rotting barrel. It’s then she notices the figure sat in the corner of the barn, previously reading a crime novel, The Case of the Deceitful German, now smiling up to the woman causing crows feet to form at the edges of the silver haired man’s eyes. 

“About time, my dear, thought you’d be making sawdust before you came here.”

The woman lightly smiled, shaking her head at the older man’s antics. 

“What are you doing out here, Hosea? You should be inside with that cough.”

“Well, in technicality am I indeed not inside a building?”  
“Hosea...”

The older man straightened his back, tapping the barrel next to his chair and shifting slightly to make room for her legs to rest, before looking towards her expectantly. She had been dreading this conversation, but one look at Hosea Mathews confirmed that trying to leave it would be like a rabbit trying to dodge a wolf. She sat down finally, picking at the fibres of her gloves as he sighed content, leaning his head back looking at the deteriorating wood of the hay bed. 

“We buried Davey. He’s got a nice spot by the stream. There was nothing else you could have done, my dear.”

“Maybe...maybe not...I’m just-“

She cut herself off, deciding to look towards the man she viewed as a father, her eyes pleading. 

“I just...how much more death must there be?”

Hosea exhaled a deep breath, looking down briefly before starting to rub his chin. 

“Well, death is...nature’s way of saying ‘your bed’s ready’. It isn’t, the end of life but a part of it. I mean, every hard road I’ve travelled has always lead to a... beautiful destination. ”

“But do you think that this... this is a part of nature, or is it a product of... naivety? stupidity? Karma maybe?”

Hosea turns to her at the question, a knowing look in his eye as he speaks again. 

“Sometimes when the only tool people have is a hammer, a lot of problems start to look like nails. We, if we’re going to survive this, need to get more tools. Our way of life is changing and it won’t wait for us, I believe Dutch, in his own way, knows this and is trying to find more tools.”

The woman nodded at his cryptic analysis, sighing and closing her eyes whilst licking stray threads from her gloves. 

“Things will work themselves out my dear, you’ll see.”  
He lifted himself from the chair with a huff, tightening his scarf and coat as he moved towards the door of the rickety barn, turning slightly to address the young woman once more before he left. 

“Apollo was a good horse, until we can get you another you’re welcome to use Ol’ Silver whenever you like. Lord knows he likes you more than me anyway.” 

Laughing slightly he dipped his head in farewell before leaving the barn. A moment later, (Y/N) reached into her pocket, pulling out her journal again before writing for the second time that day, yet thus time with a lighter mind after hearing the comforting words of Hosea. 

‘A symphony of flames dwindles to embers  
Loss echoes across the land  
A tiny star offers a small glint of light’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :)  
> Getting there slowly but surely lemme know whatcha think so far :)


	3. Colter: Enter, pursued by a memory

“Abigail, you need to stay calm. Causing a commotion isn’t going to bring him here any faster.” 

(Y/N) consoled as the young mother continues to pace in front of the fire. At this statement, Abigail turned towards the female sat on top of a rickety chair, next to her son who was quietly playing with some wood chippings. The boy had caught a bit of a nasty cold, so (Y/N) stayed close if not to bring Jack some comfort then his mother. A concoction of Yarrow, elder flower, hot water and a smudge of honey sits next to the boy half drunk. 

“He ain’t been seen in days.” Abigail states firmly, a fire in her eyes it seemed only she was able to produce. “The weather ain’t let up.”

“He’s strong and he’s smart.” Tully pipes up from a chair but is quickly shut down by Abigail’s reply of “he’s strong at least.”

It is as this point, the women around the small fire start to notice the entry of a new face. Arthur, donning his blue winter coat and thick leather gloves quickly shuts the door from which he entered making his way over to the fire to claim some warmth back in his fingers. He makes brief eye contact with (Y/N), a small nod in greeting which she replicates. The two have been so busy with their own issues they haven’t been able to have their conversations in a while.

Abigail quickly straightens up when noticing his arrival and walks closer to the large male. 

“Hello, Arthur.”

“Hello, Abigail.”

“Arthur...How you doing?”

The man slowly turns to face the woman, a look of both realisation and dread in his face making the man look so much older than he was. (Y/N) had looked down at this point, not liking the look of exhaustion on his face in the form of darkened eyes and duller skin.  
“Just fine, Abigail... and you?”

She looked slightly hesitant now, briefly glancing to the floor before rushing out her words quickly. 

“I need you to... I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry to ask but...”

“It’s little John...he’s got himself caught into a little scrape again.”

“He ain’t been seen in two... two days”

“Your John’ll be fine. I mean, he may be as dumb as rocks and as dull as rusted iron but...that ain’t changing because, he got caught in some snowstorm.”

Hosea rises from the crate boxes he was sat on. “At least go take a look. Javier?”

“Yes?”

“Javier, will you ride out with Arthur to take a look for John? You’re the two best fit men we got.”

“Now?”

Briefly placing comforting hands on Abigail, Hosea continues.

“She’s... we’re all...we’re pretty worried about him.“  
Shaking his head and taking one last drag of the cigarette between his lips, Javier reached for his repeater and a revolver before walking to Arthur and giving it him. “I know, if the situation were reversed. He’d come looking for me.”

Reluctantly and silently, Arthur agreed and turned to exit with Javier. 

“Thank you.”

“Be careful out there.” (Y/N) quickly spoke before they left the door, Javier giving a nod and Arthur turning to face her. 

“Always.”

... 

A few hours later, after day had bled into night and the men arrived back with a gored up John, (Y/N) was now finishing the stitches to the lacerations on the man’s face. Abigail hovered over her as she threaded a length of fishing wire into a new needle, the final straw on the horses back. 

“Abigail, he’ll be fine.”

“I’m not worried about him being fine, just watching he’s hurting enough to realise how stupid he was.”

“Please, I need the space to work.”

“but-“

“Can you please shut up!? Stop distracting the woman who’s currently stringing my face back together!” John’s voice rang coarsely, causing Abigail to give one last distasteful look to the man she deep down loves and wanders off, probably in search of her son. With Abigail now gone, (Y/N) sighs and begins to resume her previous actions, quietly apologizing and every wince the man below her would make. 

“She doesn’t mean bad by it, she was just worried.”

“Well, she’s gotta stop. Annoying as hell.”

“You ain’t exactly a Saint either, John.”

“Please don’t, I have enough of it from Arthur.”

“For good reason, John. You can’t carry on expecting that everything will go back to how it was. You’re not a boy, you’re a husband and a father. Start acting like it.”

With her mood thoroughly soiled for the evening, the woman quickly packed up her belongings after the final stitch and rubbing a herbal mixture on the wound. She slammed down a health cure next his head and quickly turned to leave, face set in stone after the conversation. As she opened the door to leave the building, she was met with the sight of Arthur Morgan. He had his hat held in one hand close to his chest and the other raised awkwardly as she opened the door, hinting he was about to knock to enter. 

“Oh, hello, Miss (L/N).”

“Hello, Mr. Morgan. What can I do for you?”

“Well, erm. I was wondering if...if you’re not too busy fixing up the fool over there-“

“I heard that”

“IF...you would like to maybe come with me to stables? The horses have always had a soft spot for ya.”

Staring at him for a moment, she notices the way he held his shoulders, as if they bared the weight of the world. His eyes were sunken slightly and beard untrimmed. He looked like a wreck.

“Sure, of course. I’ve just finished with him. ”

He smiled slightly at this, picking up a lantern which had been sitting by his feet and placing his hat back atop his head. He held his now free hand out slightly as she moved to exit the building, shielding her from the still harsh winds of the storm. The pair trudged through the snow together towards the stables, as the bickering of camp grew quieter they relaxed slightly.  
Upon entering the stables, Arthur was quick to shut the barn doors before turning to the shivering woman. 

“Here, Miss, sit down here.” 

He led her to an arrangement of old hay bales, which had been stacked in a way it created a closed in den of sorts, a place protected from some cold but most of all prying eyes. Atop the bales were some sheepskin blankets and a single lantern in the centre. She smiled, realising he had made an effort to give her warmth but also privacy, a notion she hasn’t experienced in days. 

“Thank you, Arthur.”

“Don’t be silly, Miss. I’m afraid you’ll still freeze.”

The two now sat across from one another, smiling before Arthur’s face started to firm a bit. He looks to the side briefly. 

“Any thing I’ve been missing at camp?”

“Not alot, I think everyone’s just trying to...ride it out I guess. Mrs. Adler’s not doing very well but, she’s speaking now at least. I’ve been giving Jack some stuff for his cold and Hosea’s not coughing as much now, not sure if it’s the weather though.”

He nods at the brief rundown of the camps wellbeing. Always caring for others before himself, he thrives in knowing that his work is keeping his family safe and well. 

“This may be the dumbest question you’ve heard but, are you okay?”

She scoffed slightly at his question, an amused smile reaching the corner of her lips. 

“I’ll be fine.”

“I know you will. You’re a strong woman but... that don’t mean you’re invincible.”

“Really, I will be, just having a bit of trouble processing it all at the moment. Everything happened so fast.”

He shook his head in agreement, looking down.  
“I understand your meaning. Just, one thing on top of the other right now. But, there was nothing else you could have done. You know that, right?”

Silence for a while she begins to lightly shake her head.  
“Yeah, it just... doesn’t make it any easier, you know?”  
She looked up then, catching eyes with Arthur. He nods slowly, “Of course, Miss. Of course.”

She reached towards her coat pocket, and as if on instinct, Arthur reached for his satchel. They both sat calmly in comfortable silence as they both began writing in their own journals. A tradition the two have kept ever since (Y/N) gifted him the small book. All that could be heard was the howl of wind outside the stable, the soft whinnies of horses, and the scribble of pencil on paper. 

'Fires have consumed the forest

Yet an oak tree still stands tall and mighty 

Protecting life within'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we're starting to add more from the original story. And, finally Arthur and reader have a much needed convo. May do a major skip soon but not too sure yet. Hope you're enjoying so far :)


	4. Colter: The Aftermath of Genesis

‘We have been running for weeks

We found shelter and been resting here in some old abandoned mining town while we wait the thaw

Hardly the spring I had been hoping for’

I closed up my journal after writing my entry, back cracking slightly as I rose up from the creaky cot with a crick in my neck. Walking into the main living area of the building I was put in, the Fire was lit and roaring with two figures sat in front of it. Both Dutch and Hosea were sat in chairs, gathering warmth and debating what to do next. I nodded in greeting as I passed, both men doing the same subtly whilst carrying on with their conversation. Whilst passing I caught bits of it, mostly Dutch saying how we “get strong, get warm and we wait.” They’ll both sort out a situation for the mess we’re currently in. 

Opening the door, I was immediately met with harsh winds and frigid cold. My leather gloves seemed to do little to fend off the cold, as I trudged through the snow covered road. I noticed Javier standing by a scout fire outside of the shack that the other med of the group were staying in. The ruckus and noise coming from inside said shack put me off of entering in that moment, walking past it whilst giving a quick nod to Javier in passing. 

In front of me by the stables I noticed Charles sat by the hitching posts, and beyond that Mr. Pearson squabbling around the small cooking pit like a headless chicken. I walked towards the small fire pit to seek out some warmth, whilst also trying to find out the issue Pearson was having with the pot. 

“We have a few cans of food and a rabbit...for what, ten, twelve people? When I was in the Navy... ”

“I-I do not wish to hear about what you got up to in the Navy, Mr. Pearson.”

“We were stranded at sea, for fifty days.”

“And you unfortunately survived.”

“When we ran away from Blackwater, I wasn’t able to get supplies in.”

“Well, when government agents are hunting you down, sometimes shopping trips have to be cut short. We’ll survive, we always have. And if needs be, we can eat you, you’re the fattest.”

“I sent Lenny and Bill out hunting and they found nothing.”

Charles has joined us at this point by the fire, donning his injured hand seeking warmth. 

“Well, Lenny’s into book learning more than hunting. Bill’s a fool. Unless those mountains are full of game that wanna read, ain’t no wonder they found nothing.”

“Enough of this. We’ll find something. Come on, Arthur.” Charles interrupted, prepping to turn around and leave. 

“Wait a second, hold on.” Mr Pearson stated, hopping over to his butchers table and reaching under it before throwing a jar in my direction. 

“Here, you’re gonna need something to eat out there.”

Looking at the label, I must’ve visibly cringed as Charles laughed silently as I said “assorted salted offal... starving would be preferable.”

“Come on, let’s go.”

“You can’t go hunting, look at your hand.”

“I can’t-“

Before Charles could finish his sentence, the loud whinny and grunt of a horse sounded from outside the shack. Me and Charles looked at each other in confusion, not expecting the sound of a horse from that direction, the horses for what we knew were all kept in the pens to the right of us, not the left. 

Our confusion was soon answered, when the metallic coat of Silver Dollar came into view, along with the small rider perched on top of the saddle, the carcass of a doe strapped to the back. 

(Y/N) was sat a top Silver Dollar, making her look impossibly smaller than she normally does donning that large, navy bison duster coat. She was wearing this with fingerless knitted gloves with a floral detail. A thick black shirt with a multi-layered black skirt tightened with a belt. Her hair hung down from her back in a half up, half down do, with plaits of her (h/c) hair tied to the back to keep it out of her face. The whole outfit was finished off with her signature black, bellerose hat, a dark teal and black feather buckled to the side of it. She looked stunning. 

The weapons tied to her back, a carcano rifle wrapped in coral cloth at the stock, two navy revolvers attached to her gun belt besides the trinkets of tools attached to a chain. Most notably, the large long bow, delicately carved in vines and songbirds made her look even more desirable, like a goddess of the hunt. 

It was then I noticed the pink tinge to her nose and cheeks and the cold vapor leaving her mouth. Despite this she smiled before she spoke. 

“Keep up, Charles, I’m beating you by a long shot.”

Charles chuckled at her playfulness, holding his hands up in defeat, but I interrupted before he could speak. 

“How long have you been out there? And who the hell let you out?”

“Believe it or not, Mr. Morgan, I’m fully capable of going off on my own. Hosea knew where I was anyway.”

After she said this the playful smile left her lips briefly, she looked around unabashedly and her cheeks seemed to glow even rosier before slowly speaking again. 

“Could... Could somebody please bring me a box or something over?”

I laughed loudly at this, hands on my stomach from the pain before walking towards her a top the large horse. I briefly tapped Silvers neck in praise, before reaching my arms out towards (Y/N). Her bottom lip puffed out a bit in a pout, before accepting fate and swinging her left leg over so I was able to lift her from the waist and safely down to the ground. 

“Thanks.”

I moved around to remove the carcass from the horses back before she could, whilst she started to talk to Charles and Pearson. 

“How long would this game last, Mr. Pearson?”

“Hmm, maybe a couple of days.”

“Not enough then, I’ll head back out now I’ve got space on Silver.”

“There were more out there?” Charles asked her as I dropped the doe onto the butchers table with a thud. 

“There was a small herd downstream, a bit down by Lake Isabella. About an hours ride there and back.”

“Well, I know it’s useless asking you to stay here and let me and Charles go but at least let someone go with you.” I asked her firmly. She stared at me for a while, but then I saw a look in her eyes I couldn’t quite put down. Almost as if she came to a realisation of some sorts. 

“Would you come with me, Mr. Morgan?"

“Well... sure, let me just grab my carbine.”

Charles turned to me when I spoke, starting to remove the bow he had across his shoulders. 

“You shoot a gun you’ll scare off any game for miles, you can borrow my bow.”

“Oh you’re joking...”

“you’re never too old to learn... I imagine. You wait (Y/N), once my hand’s healed, I’ll be hunting circles around you.”

“Oh, I’m sure Mr. Smith.” 

With a chuckle, Charles left with a salute, as I turned to the woman who had an almost manic grin on her face. 

“Just what are you up to, Miss (L/N)? Looking forward to mocking me trying to use this? ”

“Oh, not at all Mr. Morgan. You’ll get the hang of it. Now hurry, get a horse. Oh, and your lasso too.” She left in a hurry with a smile on her face, with Silver’s reins in hand, walking towards an old crate presumably to lift herself onto Silver Dollar’s saddle again. I chuckled at her stubbornness before starting to ready myself for the hunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imma need your guys's help at the end of the next chapter, I'm gonna have a vote system for you guys *gasp*  
> Anywho, hope you're enjoying it so far)(it's going a bit slow but I'm really enjoying writing at the moment, need to relearn how to pace myself I think XD)  
> Comments and Kudos are appreciated!   
> Happy reading :)


End file.
